The Darkness That Hunts
Chapter 9

While on my way to my next lesson, an“overview of parapsychology,” the clamor of pounding feet startles me.Instinctively, I bolt to the fringes of the cobble path and crouch behind atree, trying to make my body as small as possible. Leather combat boots kick updust as three men pass me, their metal belt loops jingling. Yelling intowalkie-talkies, they don’t even spare me a glance.

“Male, Caucasian.”

Static and thuds.

“Unknown cause of death . . .”

Whatever else they say is lost tostatic and distance. My gaze follows them as they sprint past more curiouscampers and round a bend, heading uphill towards the offices where thescientists and administrators assess data about their psychic charges.

Someone’s died. I yearn to follow andeavesdrop but harden myself against the idea. It’ll soon be out all over camp.Better to bide my time.

When I return to Starjungle from myafternoon of activities (mostly small, group meetings to discuss any paranormalevents we’ve experienced), I replace my cabinmates chattering and gossiping likeold friends. Perched on my bunk near the window, the druid’s note balled in myfist, I’m poignantly aware of my own alienation. So close to so many living,breathing humans. I had forgotten what it was like sharing cramped quarters.Forgot the cloying scent of perfume and sweat.

The girls blather on about cute boys,music, their lives back home. I cannot join them in their reverie and no onemakes an effort to speak to me after I’ve declined initial conversation.Instead I recline against the wall and watch distractedly as they dress andpreen themselves. It’s the sudden silence, broken only by sporadic bursts ofgiggling, that startles me out of my brooding. The girls hush one another andcrowd around the window.

“I envy her,” one swoons.

“He’s so hot!” Another whispers, “Andyou know he’s friends with Hamilton?”

Giggles and sighs.

I crawl to the edge of my bunk and peekoutside. Hand in hand, Kamiron and Sandra cuddle a few yards from Starjungle.She rests her head on his shoulder, her hair falling across her face in amovie-perfect scene. Kamiron looks surprisingly tender as his eyes smile ather. He laughs at something she says and then glances over at our window. Ijolt back. He’s avoided me all afternoon. Not so much as a glower.

The girls sigh again and shuffle off todinner in a rustle of skirts, jeans and lacy tops.

Dinner.

My stomach growls but I force myself toignore it. Not yet. I glance out the window again to replace Sandra and Kamirongone. Once I’m certain I’m the last one in the cabin, I tiptoe down the hall tothe room Sandra shares with Melissa. Their room is neater than the one I share,and identical to Kamiron’s--at least in layout. Delicate touches--makeup cases,jewelry--lie everywhere. It’s easy to recognize Sandra’s designer style fromMelissa’s conservative tastes.

Ensuring that I’m truly alone, I combthrough Sandra’s things, hunting for any evidence. I rummage in her drawers,suitcase and chest. I discover nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing I’d imaginethe general of a demonic army to have. No weapons, no incriminating evidence,no documents outlining a nefarious plot. Instead I replace pictures of her andKamiron, hastily scrawled notes detailing meetings with Starjungle members orother camp business.

I rifle through Melissa’s things to thesame result.

The shoji screen to Starjungle slidesopen and my heart lurches. Panicking, I look for a place to hide but there’s noconvenient closet, no space under the bed, no velvet floor length curtains justelaborate enough to hide the curves of a body. I hold my breath. Please, God, let it be anyone but--

Fluffing her pale crimson hair, Sandrastrolls in and halts, stunned.

“What are you doing in my room?”

“I was . . . that is . . .” I squirmand look away from her suspicious blue and green eyes. My gaze lands on abottle of Jergens basking on Mel’s nightstand. “I needed some lotion and wasjust going to use a bit of Mel’s.”

If Sandra doesn’t buy my lie, she’scareful not to show it. She strides past me to her dresser and primps in themirror there. I rub my hands together, letting the lotion settle between thecracks of my rough skin.

“I don’t like for my cabinmates to bein my room when Melissa and I aren’t here.”

“It won’t happen again.”

She smiles at me, a sweet smile withouta trace of malice. A contrast to her eyes. “How are you? Getting used to ithere?”

I nod, backing towards the door. “Ishould go now.”

Pink lips mold into a delicate pout.“Why such a hurry?”

“I don’t want to miss dinner.”

Sandra turns and sits on her violetbedspread. She crosses her long, graceful legs and I look away, feeling asinsignificant as ever. An ugly brown child in the presence of some Norwegianmodel-goddess.

“Oh, I’m sure you won’t. Did yourecover your memories yet?”

She phrases it off-handedly, almost asif she’s bored, but I sense the subtle pry.

“Not much, just a few things abouthome, my family,” I answer just as neutrally.

Sandra reaches into her nightstanddrawer and pulls out a nail file. “Funny, I hear you remember much more,Shari.”

My heart races. No, Kamiron. Again, I see him and her together, standing justoutside Starjungle, their fingers interlaced. Lovers. Of course he wouldconfide in her. I was the fool.

She looks at me, expression mocking.“In fact, I learned you spoke to my boyfriend about me today.”

Her smile this time isn’t sweet.

I want to flee, but where can I go? Shecan move as fast as she wishes, is stronger than any human. If she wanted tokill me she well could at any time . . . so why hasn’t she?

“What do you want?”

The metal file grates against herFrench manicure as she shapes her nails. “For one, to stop spreading lies aboutme.” She blows shavings off her fingertips. “Secondly, who helped you escape?”

“No one. I got out on my own.”

“I replace the quickest answer is usuallya lie.”

Getout of here, Shari.

“Don’t worry. I won’t harm you as longas you’re useful to Us.”

I suck in a razor sharp breath. Sothat’s why. They’re waiting, watching.

“Yes, We are.” Sandra buffs her nailsand tosses her file back into the drawer. She stalks towards me. Before I canregister the danger, she blocks all routes of escape. Her hands dig into mypockets until they retrieve Divine’s note. She scans it.

“Thank you, Shari. I think we’ll have agreat relationship.” She tucks the paper in her bra and adjusts her fullbreasts. “But if I were you, I’d keep my mouth shut. I’d hate to have to hurtany of your new friends.”

Hurtmy friends? Then that dead person they just found, could it be that she--?

“And as for Kamiron . . .” This timeSandra’s smile reveals canines as sharp as her signature stilettos. “He’s mine.”

The Steel Fang struts away just as myknees give out.

By the time I replace my way there, thecafeteria is packed. Sandra sticks out like a rotting corpse in the desert. Shelaughs and shakes her bangs out of her eyes. I replace Mel, Kamiron, Zakk, Dace andsome others I don’t know at her table. I grab my food--a juice box and ahamburger--and head outside, dumping my tray on top of the trashcan on my wayout.

I didn’t see Hamilton. Is he alright?Has Sandra killed him because of my big mouth? If she hasn’t, who was personthat died?

The burger tastes like ashes, but Iforce it down anyway. Worry eats at me. Sandra has Divine’s message and sheknows someone helped me. It’s only a matter of time before she--and byextension Andhakar--ferret out whom. I still have no idea who this medium is,much less how to contact him or her and convince them to help replace Divine’smysterious “three.”

And all that assumes Sandra doesn’tjust kill me first.

Blinking away frustrated tears, Iwander the campgrounds until I replace a suitable patch of grass to sit. I have noidea where I am, but I discover a giant pagoda overlooking a pool of pristinewater. Unlike Andhakar Lake, I feel nothing but peace here. The setting sunskims the tree line, and I watch the reflection of rose, lavender and deepamber glide along the water’s surface. Lightning bugs compete with theburgeoning stars, blinking on and off as they waver around stalks of grass andwildflowers. Waves break methodically against a sandy bank, sloshing in harmonywith the melody of an acoustic guitar.

Wait, acoustic guitar?

I rise, searching until I replace a lonefigure, dark head bent and partially hidden by the stylized pillars of thepagoda. The melody is haunting and vaguely Latin in its cadences. I driftcloser, keeping to the lengthening shadows. I recognize the guitarist’s buildimmediately and relief sweeps over me. Anxious to avoid interrupting, Ibackpedal.

“Not going to say hi, Georgia?”

I trip over my own heels and almostfall. The music continues, accompanied by Hamilton’s soft chuckle. Timidly Imeet him on the pagoda and sit beside him on an ash bench.

“I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“You never do.”

I’m more pleased by his response than Iought to be. “What’s this place?”

“Shizuka Lake. Man-made, back when CampGen first opened. Bigger than Lake Andy. Much nicer, in my opinion.”

“Do you come here often?”

Hamilton’s song softens as it rides thegentle mountain winds. “A veces. WhenI need to get away from all the noise.”

“You mean people’s thoughts?”

His head dips in a nod.

“It’s calm here. This place suits you.”

Hamilton blesses me with a smile. “Kamsays ‘shizuka’ is Japanese for quiet,for calm.”

I try not to fidget. I don’t reallywant to think about Kamiron. Instead I broach a topic that has been botheringme all day.

“I was under the impression I scaredyou--last night.”

Dark fingers continue to skim acrossthe guitar strings. The sky beyond sparkles on the waves and the early eveningunfolds around us in delicate breaths. “I wasn’t scared of you, Shari.”

“Then what was it?”

The music changes, becomes harsh andgrating, the high notes resounding like the wails of the tortured, the heavybass echoing the moans of the damned. Hamilton strums angrily, each noteclashing against the other in a ferocious battle, in dark desires, in arcaneobsession. And death.

Above all, death.

It stops and silence sits between us, asilence made all the louder by the absence of the music. When Hamilton resumesplaying, it is once again the haunting melody from before.

“It’s like that,” he whispers, tuggingmy attention to his Texan drawl. I realize my heart is racing and my fingersare locked around the cold wood of our shared bench. I force myself to exhale.He has touched on the horror. He has seenit. I think of Kamiron and his stinging rebuke. I think of Sandra and herburied menace, one only I can see. I feel so alone and lost and overwhelmed bythe responsibility for stopping Andhakar. I’m just an unstable black girl fromAtlanta. What am I going to be ableto do? Is Kamiron right? Am I living in an alternate reality?

Setting aside his guitar, Hamiltondrapes his arm across my shoulders and tucks me against his chest. He doesn’tspeak or try to reassure me and I’m grateful.

“My family is originally fromColombia,” he begins after a while, his violet eyes continuing to stare at thetiny cresting waves. “Back during the worst of the violence. During PabloEscobar. Mis abuelos, mygrandparents, they wanted to escape the drug cartels and bombings, so theypacked up mi madre y mi tío and cameto America, to Texas. Mami met a niceMexican-American man, married. Had me and my sisters. But mi tío . . . he found his way back to the cartels.”

I listen to Hamilton’s heartbeat andtry not to make any sound. I don’t know much about Colombia, but I know thatdrug trafficking is a big issue. Atlanta is one of the major cities for illegaldrugs coming out of South America.

“I worshipped my uncle, you see. To mehe was so cool. He had all this money, a big house, girls. No one messed withhim. Then one day, he asked if I wanted to sneak off with him. Travel toColombia--see where I came from. I was eight, and I wanted to please him, so Isaid yes. We stayed in Colombia for six years. At the time, I didn’t realizewhat he’d done was kidnap me. I didn’t realize the torment I’d put Mami through. I just knew that around mi tío, I didn’t have to hide myabilities. He liked that I could hear thoughts. He wanted me to help him. Hewanted me to use my telepathy to spy and eavesdrop on cartel enemies. And Idid.”

My breath hitches. “Your uncle used you?”

The pads of Hamilton’s fingers trace upand down my arm, but he doesn’t look away from the waters of Shizuka Lake. “Hedid, but I enjoyed it. I enjoyed using my abilities. I enjoyed making peoplefear me.” He hesitates but when I say nothing, he continues. “In Texas, I feltlike a freak. My family knew what I could do, but they didn’t understand. Myparents would pray, mi abuelita . . .I can’t count how many times she’d be at Mass, begging God to cast the Devil frommy head.”

I reach out and squeeze his knee. Iknow just how that feels.

“I’ve been through counseling, prayercircles, even had an exorcism, once.”

What in the world--an exorcism? I didn’t even think theCatholic Church did those anymore!

The corners of Hamilton’s lips twitch.“Neither did I, chica.”

Telepathy. Right. I’ve got to stopforgetting that.

“That’s horrible.”

He shrugs. “It seemed worse at thetime, but now I understand. They loved me and were only trying to help, but allI could think was that they were ashamed of me. It made working for my uncle .. . I learned to be a survivor. To be ruthless and uncaring.”

“What changed?”

“I watched mi tío get gunned down.”

“Oh, Hamilton, I’m--”

He cuts me off with an abrupt shake ofhis head. The edges of his hair tickle my cheek as he rests his chin on the topof my head like he did my first night at Camp Gen. “It’s alright, Shari. Thatkind of life . . . no one lives be old. But it woke me up, you know? I realizedwhat I was becoming so I came back to Texas. It was then that mi madre learned about Gen. She savedup, working three jobs just to send me here.”

For a long moment, we watch thenighttime age around us. I tilt my head at him. “Why did you tell me all that?It seems very personal.” I wince at how unappreciative I sound and hastily add:“Not that I mind.”

His violet gaze drifts to my lips andthen back to my eyes. “I don’t know. I’ve never really told anyone that stuffbefore. I guess it’s because I know you’re struggling and feel lost. Everythingseems like it’s working against you, but you’ll replace your way, Shari, just likeI found mine.”

Oh. We stare at one another, and my hearthiccups. Crickets croon from blades of grass. Birds call out across the lakeand somewhere high above I hear the squeak of a pair of squirrels as theypatter across the branches. Hamilton’s head nears mine. I can hear the changein his breathing; feel the warmth of his body as he shifts. Our mouths--

“Excuse me, miss, this loser harassingyou?”

Jolting out from under Hamilton’s arm,I nearly jump six miles. Dace waltzes up the steps of the pagoda and stares outover Shizuka Lake. The winking glow from the lightning bugs bounce off thelenses of his glasses, momentarily hiding his eyes, but his teasing smirk saysit all.

Hamilton mutters something in Spanishand snatches up his guitar.

Dace’s smirk blossoms into a grin.“Didn’t mean to block you, bro.”

“We were just enjoying the sunset.” Hamiltonchanges the subject. “What’s up?”

“Her Royal Majesty Princess Chameleonsent me to fetch you.” Dace hooks his thumbs in the pockets of his khaki shortsand sniffs. “Knew I’d replace you here but I figured Shari would already be withStarjungle at the emergency meeting.”

“Emergency meeting?” Hamilton and Ichorus.

“Yeah. About some kid that just died.”

Campers, scientists, researchers andcamp personnel gather in the J.B. Rhine Auditorium, a building situated in thenorth section of Camp Genki near the camp’s entrance and administrativeoffices. Unlike the more rustic structures of Camp Genki, the administrativebuildings are modern in design--behemoths of glass and steel stuffed with thelatest technology and most advanced research labs. In the settling twilight,the towering electric lamps make the buildings’ plate-glass windows look likeaged butter.

While Dace, Hamilton and I slip intothe deserted row in the back, I count roughly forty campers watching Camp Gen’sDirector as she stands awkwardly at the helm of a broad stage and clutches astylish podium. Behind her droops an empty projection screen. On her rightstretches a line of chairs occupied by other administrators and programmingstaff. To her left sit the head scientists, their expressions contemplative asthey study the campers mulling before them. Security, outfitted in matte blackparamilitary uniforms, fidget near the outskirts of the auditorium, tuning outthe Director’s lengthy introductory speech and urge for caution.

Dace props his foot on the back of theseat in front of us. His scuffed Vans tapping out an offbeat rhythm. I’mrelieved no one is sitting in the chair to turn around and glare at us.Hamilton balances his acoustic guitar on the empty seat beside us. I scan therows of chairs, searching for Sandra. There are too many bodies to pick her outof the crowd. From what I notice, the younger kids, age six to ten, occupy theleft side of the auditorium. The older campers huddle near the center, and therest of the camp staff convene along the right.

“When did they replace the body?” Hamiltonwhispers over me to Dace. Dace brushes a lock of hair from his forehead.

“Late morning. I’m guessing it happenedlast night.”

A man stalks across the stage inmeasured steps cushioned by ebony combat boots. His stern expression coupledwith his paramilitary attire makes him look particularly foreboding. Bulgingpockets, polished handcuffs, holsters, and his bulletproof vest only add to theintimidation factor.

I turn to Dace. “They don’t look liketypical officers.”

“They’re not.” Dace’s head bobs in thedirection of the security personnel. “Parapolice. These guys are allex-military but now work for a private security firm that’s usually contractedby corporations or the government.”

“Is that necessary? We’re no danger toanyone.”

Dace’s expression turns grave. “Thekind of research they do here, Shari, the level of government interest--you’dbe amazed how far they’re willing to go to protect their ‘investment.’”

I suddenly feel sick to my stomach.Around us, officers snap to attention as their superior’s gruff voice blaresthrough the loudspeakers dotting the ceiling.

“My name is Lieutenant Butler, chief ofsecurity here at Camp Genki.” Lieutenant Butler removes a slim notepad from hisvest and flips through the first few pages. He then leans against the podiumand proceeds to explain that we are to avoid roaming the campgrounds alone. Touse the “buddy system.” He cautions everyone to report anything suspicious toan administrator, officer--there will be an increased presence, especially atnight--or to our cabin leaders. I almost snort at the thought of telling Sandraabout any suspicious behavior at Camp Genki--especially considering the factthat she’s the cause.

As Lieutenant Butler continues hisspeech, I sense Hamilton’s discomfort. I touch his thigh. He offers a small nodas he massages his temples.

“Lots of voices,” he whispers, miseryweighing heavily in his tone. “Sometimes it’s hard to tune them out.”

“Is that why you keep to yourself somuch?”

“I used to be worse--before cominghere.” His hand drops to cover mine. Our intermingling skin tones lookbeautiful beneath the fluorescent lights. “It wouldn’t be so bad if I couldhear just one or two at a time.”

“What if you concentrate on just oneperson’s thoughts?”

He frowns. “You mean eavesdrop?”

I have the grace to look ashamed, especiallyconsidering Hamilton’s earlier confession. “I just meant to make the othervoices recede some by making one primary.”

Hamilton straightens in his chair andhis gaze skims the auditorium. “There isn’t anyone’s thoughts I particularlycare to know.”

I wish he could read Sandra’s thoughts,see her evil firsthand, but I’ll have to use the next best thing. “How aboutLieutenant Butler?”

Dace turns to us, catching on to thelast of our whispered conversation. “So you, too, think this is complete bull?”

I fidget in my seat. “I just have afeeling . . .”

Hamilton’s eyes narrow on theLieutenant as he continues to speak about the importance of proper safetymeasures, especially in our line of “work.”

“He thinks we’re freaks,” Hamiltonrelates.

Dace snorts. “Big surprise there.”

A deep crease forms between Hamilton’sbrows.

“What is it?”

“He’s afraid of something.This death has unnerved him--and he’s been on tours in Iraq and Afghanistan.Something’s wrong.”

“Wrong how?”

“His thoughts aren’t on that. I can onlyglimpse what he’s thinking at the moment.”

I exchange a look with Dace who shrugs.Lieutenant Butler steps away from the podium to address any questions. No oneraises a hand.

“If someone were to ask a directquestion about the circumstances of the death, do you think you could picksomething up?”

Hamilton gives a guarded nod.

My hand shoots into the air before Ican lose my nerve.

“Of course, young lady in the back.”

I hear the rustle of bodies shiftingand feel the heat of eyes on me. Cursing myself for my impulsivity, I stand andclear my throat.

“Exactly how did he die? Was it anaccident or . . .” My voice wavers and I catch hold to it, forcing it not to goout on me. Maybe drawing the attention of everyone at Camp Genki isn’t such agood idea, especially when I am not supposed to even be here. “Or something . . . else?”

The officer snaps shut his notepad andhis dark eyes regard me thoughtfully. “This is an ongoing investigation.Pending an autopsy, we don’t yet know the cause of death.”

“So it wasn’t an animal attack?Coyotes?” I continue, startling myself with my boldness.

Lieutenant Butler clears his throat.“As I’ve said, pending autopsy, we should know for sure, but it was not ananimal attack--though there have been sightings of coyotes lately so becareful.” He glances at the Director and then back out at the gathered campers.“We suspect exposure. Maybe he got lost in an unfamiliar part of the grounds,which is why we ask that everyone observe the buddy system . . .”

I sit as Lieutenant Butler continues totake questions about how to contact him before the Director resumes the podiumand discusses funeral arrangements for the victim--we don’t yet know his name,pending notification of his family--and a memorial service to be held in twodays.

“Anything, Ham?” Dace leans over to us,his expression gleaming with excitement.

“Wasn’t exposure.”

“Knew that was bullshit.” Dace whistleslow. “An experiment gone wrong?”

Hamilton sighs. “It’s not somegovernment conspiracy, amigo.”

Dace doesn’t appear deterred. “It’s notlike it hasn’t happened before. You know the clause we have to sign beforewe’re allowed here.”

“Clause?”

“Can’t sue incase of accidental death,injury, or any other unforeseeable ‘mishaps.’” Hamilton relates. My eyebrowsshoot up into my hairline.

“Does that happen often?”

“Sometimes. We’re not exactly ordinaryhere, Shari. The . . . tests we undergo can be rigorous and stressful on bothbody and mind. But if something doeshappen, our nondisclosure agreement makes sure no one ever replaces out about it.”Hamilton quiets as he watches the Director run a hand through her hair. “Sofrom what I saw, the kid just seemed to have killed over without a scratch onhim. But they did replace a glowing mark over his heart--though it faded awaybefore they could properly document it.”

“What kind of mark?”

“Got a pen?”

Dace digs into his khakis andpulls out a mechanical pencil and a sketchpad with building blueprints fillingits pages or detailed renderings of innocuous objects like potted plants anddesks, sofas and wall paintings.

“For remote viewing,” he explains,tossing Hamilton the pad and pencil. “I draw the things I see, though I’venever been in the room, and it’s located across the camp, sometimes all the wayin Perchton.”

“You’re a very talented artist.”

To my surprise, a blush creeps upDace’s cheeks and he mutters a sheepish thanks. We fall silent as Hamiltonbegins sketching a bizarre symbol on a fresh sheet of paper. A square with theleft line missing. Two dots like a colon on the right. A horizontal linebeneath the square.

The insignia of Andhakar.